Home, Alone
by jwren
Summary: Violence perpetuates violence


_Home, alone _

Sometimes, when Kevin walks the two and a half miles home from school, toeing the sliver of cement off to the side of the highway, he pretends he is Indiana Jones, inching along the precarious edge of a cliff, safe from the crocodiles or cannibals or Nazis below.

There are no Nazis in Winnetka, Illinois, but there are other things that can hurt him, like minivans and semi-trucks. So Kevin keeps his head down, elbows in.

_One foot at a time, _he thinks, as cars speed by so close, his keychain probably scratches the paint. No one stops to ask why a child is walking on the side of a busy road or to call the police. No one ever stops because no one ever notices him.

Sometimes, Kevin pretends he is also the Invisible Man.

A semi screams past, rattling his bones as he stops and clutches the guardrail, grotesquely bent and warped out of shape. Perhaps this is one of the rails that has met the front hood of Mr. McCallister's sedan when he's drunk and delirious, on his way to one of the few ABC stores left that will serve him. Perhaps his father is driving home from work right now on this very road, getting a head start on the Jack he keeps in the glove compartment, speeding past his own son on the curb. It wouldn't be the first time.

His parents don't know that he knows all of this-the drinking, the bruises speckled over his mother, his brothers-but of course he does. He's not one of the gullible neighbors that take his family's lies at face value; he doesn't have the privilege of living in that sort of fantasy world, where parents love their children and remember to pick them up after school.

_Sorry, I was busy, _his mother will say once Kevin gets home, with none of the guilt _sorry _is supposed to carry. She will be making dinner or clipping coupons, just like the mothers of his friends. But there will be a bottle of _something_ next to her, always within arm's reach, and Kevin doubts very much that his friends' mothers have their stomachs pumped once a month or so. _Sorry, _she'll say, and Kevin will fill in the rest.

_Sorry, I never meant to be a mother. Sorry, I don't care enough to learn. _

It's better though, when they're _busy. _When they leave him alone, forget he exists, Kevin can pretend that nothing's wrong, like his parents are just in the next room watching television or paying bills and his sister is at her friend's house. The illusion will be upheld if he just stays in his room, if he keeps his eyes and his focus on his comics and his toys. Otherwise, his parents are slumped unconscious on the couch or on the floor, and Megan has run away again with her dirtbag boyfriend. His mother will be bruised in the morning as will his sister.

Yes, it's better to be ignored. Kevin's seen what happens when his siblings aren't ignored, when they're smothered with "attention." Buzz lashed out so often and so violently, the military school kicked him out. Now he's at a _special school _and Kevin only sees his oldest brother for Christmas. Jeff, on the other hand, has stopped talking. He doesn't cry anymore, when their father twists his arms or cuffs his ears so hard he goes deaf for a while. He just stares, glassy-eyed, and walks away. Meanwhile, Megan lets the wolf that bites her lick her wounds, as if she forgot that love wasn't supposed to hurt. Kevin is still young enough to be ignored and small enough to slip under his father's drunken haze, unnoticed. But then, he's growing up, and nothing lasts forever.

"Aunt Leslie and your cousins are coming tomorrow evening," his mother says as he walks into the house, frostbitten and flushed. She is finishing a crossword puzzle. There is no _sorry. _"and we're catching our flight early the next morning, so you better be packed."

Buzz's forfeited college savings had gone towards their big Christmas trip-10 days in Paris. Joining them were Kevin's aunt, uncle, and six cousins; a family so eerily similar to his, it made him wonder whether dysfunction was genetic or a learned behavior.

She looks up from her crossword puzzle offhandedly. "Rod and Fuller will be sharing your room for the night, so clean up that pigsty. "

"_But, Mom-"_

"I mean it, Kevin!_"_

It's nice, he thinks, to be nagged. His friends' mothers probably nag them all the time. Kevin sidles past his mother to climb the stairs, but is blocked by his sister. She pops her gum, leaning against the wall.

"School ended like, hours ago. Why are you home so late?"

"Why do you think?"

Her face falls slightly as she remembers passing him in her boyfriend's car. She had wanted to stop, had been about to tug at Ricky's sleeve to pull over, but didn't have the guts. It hadn't been the first time. Megan looks away.

"Get a bike, loser."

The front door slams open and Kevin freezes. Megan's eyes go wide as saucers as she whispers "_shit_," and scurries upstairs. Their father is home and, just judging by the sound of his footsteps, had indeed already started drinking in the car. It was a Friday, after all.

"Jeff!" Mr. McCallister roared, hauling a full paint can onto the kitchen counter with a loud thud. He turned to his wife."Where the hell is Jeff?"

"He left a few minutes ago," she said, sidestepping him to close the curtains. "He finished painting the garage door so I let him go to-"

"He left _this_," he interrupted, snapping his knuckles against the paint can, "on the ladder. The whole thing buckled and it almost hit me! _I could have fuckin' died._"

This was the latest in a long chain of accidents that always seemed to be tied back to Jeff. Kevin had caught his older brother carefully arranging toy cars along the basement steps last week, resulting in merely a sprained wrist for their father and a bloody nose for Jeff; thankfully, Mr. McCallister was still under the impression that his second son was simply an idiot. Kevin was starting to wonder if Jeff was a sociopath. Kevin wasn't sure if that was a bad thing.

"That fuckin' moron would burn the place down if he could figure out how to light a goddamned match….guess we know what side of the family _he _takes after."

Kevin prayed his mother wouldn't take the bait. She did.

"What's _that _supposed to mean? He's your son, you-"

Kevin flinched at the sound of his father grabbing the newspaper and whacking her across the face with it. He hadn't been seen yet, so he flattened his own body further against the wall, sliding towards the stairs.

_Invisible Man, Invisible Man. _

Days later, when Kevin wakes up in the morning, it is silent. His awful cousins are gone, their makeshift beds on the floor are vacant and their suitcases are conspicuously missing. Getting up and walking about the house, he peers into each room one by one. Jeff and Buzz: gone. Megan: gone. Mom and Dad: gone. The house is empty, Kevin is alone, and he's never been happier.

His family could notice he's gone in a few minutes, turn around, and come right back to fetch him. But more likely, they will forget him entirely until it is too late. Kevin is giddy with the thought and runs through the house screaming, not from fear but elation, breaking the silence he had held so carefully. He stomps down the hallway and races around the house, switching on every light; there are no hangovers to worry about this morning. He jumps on every bed and hurls the pillows against the wall, laughing maniacally in the overwhelming recklessness of the moment. Who cares if it's just for the day or even the hour? He's alone.

Outside the window, he hears voices: two men, crouched in the bushes. Kevin tries to remember where his father left that paint can.


End file.
